


The Gleam in Your Eyes

by SylvieW



Series: Where Dreams Come True [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, But raised by the Sheriff, Canonical Character death? (Claudia), Cheese Fondue, Crack, Evil Kate, Happily Ever After, Historical AU, M/M, Sleeping Beauty AU, Stiles Is An Argent, Vaguely Little Red Riding Hood too?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 04:05:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8272132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylvieW/pseuds/SylvieW
Summary: After their infant son is cursed, the King and Queen send him to live deep in the forest in an effort to keep him safe, but the forest is deep and you never know when wolves may be prowling…





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! I've put this as an instalment in a series because I feel they fit well together, however they can easily be enjoyed independently. Fairytales are my jam and I suspect I'll be doing more of them in the future.
> 
> Thanks, as always, to my awesome beta team, who lend me they're skill even for things that are not their jam.

***********

The whole kingdom of Beacon rejoiced when Queen Victoria gave birth to a healthy baby boy. King Christopher and his queen were the most reputable of the Argent line. After freeing the people from the tyranny of his father, Chris had become renowned for his fairness and honour. He upheld his duty to the people above all else, and so the citizens of Beacon wanted him and his line to reign and prosper for years to come.

A great celebration was held to welcome young Stephen. Men and women of nobility gathered from all over the kingdom. Ambassadors and royalty from neighboring kingdoms came to pay their respects, bestowing gifts on the infant, while fairies, witches and druids gave favours of the more magical variety.

The ballroom was aglow, the long tables draped in fine fabrics. Lovely figures danced in swirls across the gleaming floor. Delicious food burdened the tables, and wine flowed freely. It was a party that any guest would be honoured to attend.

From a security standpoint, it was a complete nightmare.

John Stilinski took a moment to give thanks that he wasn’t in charge of the guard. He had known King Chris for years, fought by his side, and considered him a good friend. He valued that friendship too much to be the one calling out orders that would determine the royal family's safety. 

He was stationed just behind the King’s throne, watching as guests came up to congratulate the couple and coo at the babe. John chuckled as Princess Allison peeked into the crib once more and smiled down at her brother. She had been looking forward to having a sibling for months. Queen Victoria gently guided her to sit back in her small throne.

John didn’t envy the little girl. At three years old, she was already expected to behave with grace and poise. He hoped for her sake that the nursemaid would be coming soon to take her to bed.

The dancing stuttered to a halt as the grand doors flew open and a bitterly cold gust of wind blew in. The bright glow that had permeated the room disappeared as the candles were extinguished, leaving nothing but wisps of grey smoke. 

The sea of guests began to part as the new arrival entered. John only had to catch a glimpse of her to recognize that she meant trouble. Victoria lifted the baby from his cradle, hugging him close. Chris stood, hand on his sword, as deadly as it was decorative.

John grabbed Allison, scooping her up onto his hip, and stepped into the curtains behind the thrones. “We have to be very quiet now. Can you do that, Ally?” The little princess nodded. She pressed her face into John’s neck, and he petted her curly dark hair as he looked through the curtain.

“Brother dear,” Kate said, mouth curved in a predatory smile. “It seems that someone misplaced my invitation. I might have missed my dear nephew’s celebration.”

“You aren’t wanted here, Kate,” Victoria said. Chris’ relationship with his sister had suffered greatly after the death of their father. Chris might have forgiven her for her part in Gerard’s tyrannical reign, but then she had stirred up trouble in Triskelion. Chris wanted Beacon at peace, and as such wanted no part in a war against a kingdom inhabited mostly by werewolves. When she’d made a direct attack against the Hale family, killing the Queen of Triskelion and her consort, Chris had formally renounced Kate, and declared her an enemy of the state.

“Not wanted?” Kate pouted. “Come now, I only came to give the child a gift.”

“We want nothing from you,” Victoria said. She rocked the baby as he started to fret. 

_Where are the other guards?_ John thought. He wanted to rush forward and take Stephen, but he couldn’t leave little Allison.

“Oh, but I insist.” Kate threw up her hands, and green lights swirled around her. Her voice echoed with the piercing ring of power. “Before the sun sets on his eighteenth birthday, he will prick his finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel, and die.”

“No!” Chris lunged forward, sword drawn, but Kate was already disappearing in a swirl of black fabric, green light, and cruel laughter.

The ballroom erupted in panic, like they had all been released from a spell. The guards John had been expecting ages ago rushed in, confused and stumbling as guests fled past them.

John stepped out of the curtain and shifted Allison so he could take the Queen’s elbow. “This way, Victoria, come with me.” Chris followed closely behind them. They didn’t stop until they reached the the royal family’s personal quarters.

Allison’s nursemaid met them, tears in her eyes as she took the girl from John.

“Is Stephen okay, Momma?” Allison asked.

Victoria smiled tightly and Chris said, “He’s going to be fine, honey.”

Allison was lead away. As soon as she was gone, Victoria held the baby away from her. Chris took him quickly and Victoria stalked toward the window, staring out with her arms curled at her sides.

“We can fix this,” Chris said.

“How?” Victoria spat. “Kate’s curses are powerful. He’s dead before his life even started. How could she do this to her own nephew?”

“He won’t die, Victoria, I won’t let him.” Chris stared down at Stephen, determination in his eyes. “We have 18 years to break the curse. We’ll find a way.”

“John?” Claudia stumbled into the room in her usual whirl of energy. “Is everyone alright?” She rushed to his side and John wrapped his arms around her, letting her presence calm him.

“We’re all fine, but Kate cursed the baby,” John said.

“Can you help him, Claudia?” Chris asked.

Claudia looked at him sadly. “That’s not my kind of magic. I’m sorry.”

“It is, however, mine.”

John had only the druid Deaton a handful of times, but to be honest, he found the man’s calm demeanor somewhat unnerving.

“Normally, this would be out of our hands,” Deaton said. “But because Stephen is too young to have done anything to deserve such malice, some balance can be restored.”

“How?” Chris demanded. Victoria remained at the window, staring blindly ahead.

“If I may?” Deaton held out his hands for the baby and Chris reluctantly passed him over. Deaton took a vial from his pocket and sprinkled a grey powder over Stephen’s head, chanting in another language. 

The baby gave a tiny sneeze, and Claudia cooed in response while Deaton looked unimpressed. He handed Stephen back to Chris and returned the vial to his pocket.

“Was that it? Is the curse broken?” Chris asked.

“It could not be broken, only modified,” Deaton said. “When he pricks his finger, he won’t die, he’ll merely be put into a trance-like state. A sleep almost as deep as death.”

“What good does that do him?” Victoria asked from the window.

Deaton turned to her with a mild smile. “The trance can be broken, death cannot.”

“Broken by what?” Chris asked. “How long will he sleep?”

“The most powerful of magic,” Deaton said. “True love’s kiss.”

“True love?” Victoria echoed. She shook her head and turned back to the window.

Deaton ignored her, addressing Chris. “The trance will keep him alive. The rest I cannot control.”

“He could be asleep for years then?” Chris asked.

“Oh, yes,” Deaton said. “It could take decades. Centuries even.” He gave a slight bow. “I wish you the best of luck.” Then he left, as swiftly as he’d come.

Chris stared down at his son. “Kate will find out about this. She’ll come for him again.”

“The castle guard will protect him,” John said.

“Like they did tonight?” Chris said. “Clearly she’s able to get past them.”

“She used a spell,” Claudia said. “They were unable to move until it was over.”

“Then they’re useless,” Chris spat.

“Not John,” Victoria said. She turned to them slowly. “John wasn’t paralyzed. He took Allison.”

“I wanted to get the baby, but I didn’t want to leave her unprotected,” John said apologetically. He knew he’d be replaying that moment in his mind for years to come, wondering if there was a way he could have saved both of them.

“Of course,” Chris said. “If you hadn’t grabbed Allison, she might have cursed them both. Ally is safe because of you. But we’ll have to find a way to keep Stephen safe until his birthday.”

“Leave him with John,” Victoria said quietly.

“What?” Chris asked her.

She left the window, eyes glinting with rage and determination. “He won’t be safe here until Kate is defeated or the curse is passed. Send him away. Have John protect him, far, far away from here, where she’ll never find him.”

“Victoria, we can’t just send our child away,” Chris said, holding the baby closer.

“We don’t have a choice,” Victoria hissed. “The second Kate hears that Deaton changed the curse, she’ll be after him again. She won’t rest until she sees him dead.”

“He’s our child,” Chris said. “We need to protect him.”

“I know,” Victoria said. “That’s why he can’t stay here.” She took the baby from Chris and traced her finger over his face, tenderness crossing her features before they hardened once again. She brought him over to Claudia and thrust him into her arms. “Take him away. Don’t tell us where, just go. Do whatever you must to keep him from her.”

“You want us to raise your child?” Claudia asked quietly.

Victoria cringed. “I want him safe.” She traced her thumb on his cheek one last time. Then she left without turning back.

“Chris,” John said, but he didn’t even know where to start.

“John, I’m going to ask this as a friend, and not a king,” Chris said. “Victoria’s right. Stephen will be safer away from us. Please, take him. Raise him to be fair, noble, and trustworthy. Like you.” Chris smiled sadly. “Don’t tell him he’s a prince. Just raise him to be good. Keep him safe, until he can come home.” He walked over to Claudia and smoothed his hand over the baby’s soft skin. “We’ll be together again soon.” He followed after his wife, leaving their child behind.

“We can’t do this,” John whispered. He turned to his wife. “Claudia, I can’t ask you to do this.”

“How can we not?” Claudia said. John could see the tears starting to form in her eyes. “Maybe this was meant to happen, maybe this is the reason we--” Her words choked off, but John knew she was thinking of their own empty cradle, their symbol of hope that had become only a bitter reminder. They’d been married for years, and no matter how they wished and prayed, they hadn’t been blessed with a child of their own.

“We could go to my grandfather’s cottage,” Claudia said. “So deep in the woods, hardly anyone will know he exists. We can raise him as our own, and no one will question it. Kate will never find him.”

“Claudia,” John said.

“Just look at him, John,” Claudia said, staring reverently at the infant. “He’s so perfect. We can raise him together. Safe and free, out in the woods.”

John looked down at the small form cradled in Claudia’s arms. The baby blinked up at him with unfocused eyes. For the second time in his life, John fell head over heels in love.

“We can do this, John,” Claudia said. “Stephen needs us to.”

John sighed. “We won’t be able to call him Stephen.”

Claudia smiled, knowing she’d convinced him. “We’ll figure something out.”

***

“Don’t go too far,” Stiles’ father called. “Be careful. Don’t stray too deep. And be home before the sun sets!”

“I know,” Stiles called back. He ducked into the woods before his father could fuss any more. Stiles wasn't afraid of the woods. His friend Scott thought it was too big and dark. Too many things to hide in the shadows, but Stiles liked it. He knew what was in those shadows, because his mother had taught him. She’d taught him everything.

His earliest memories were of his hand in hers as they walked through the trees and she told him about all the different plants. What could be eaten, what could heal, what could hurt.

For 11 years, she’d taught him how to cook, and how to craft. Now that she was gone, and had been for five years, Stiles wandered the forest alone, found the plants, and took them home. The people in the small village nearby had been dubious at first, convinced that he was too young to make the potions and brews his mother had. But Melissa, village healer and mother of his best friend, had spoken highly of his skill, and she was the only healer they had. So Stiles had done as his mother taught him, and in time, the village learned to trust him just as they had her.

He stopped now and then to pick a sprig of thyme or a bunch of watercress, but he didn’t linger long. He was after some very specific mushrooms. They were hard to come by, but Stiles knew exactly where to find them.

He wound through the trees, watched animals scurry across sun dappled ground, and birds flit through the trees.

The place the mushrooms grew was deep in the forest. Deeper than his father would be comfortable with if he knew. It was closer to the murky borders of Triskelion than it was to the clear roads of Beacon. Stiles found it easily, and crouched down in the dirt. He looked for the mushrooms that were oldest, without being too old, and left the younger ones behind to grow. 

When his basket was full, he settled in next to a tree. His father wouldn’t expect him home so soon, so he decided to take the opportunity to appreciate the calm of the forest and the beauty of the day. He let his mind wander in half-formed daydreams.

He didn’t look over immediately when he heard a rustle nearby, assuming it was a curious rabbit or fat vole. When a shadow loomed over him, he looked up. _That is definitely not a bunny._

The man glared down at him. “What are you doing out alone in the woods.”

Stiles smiled up at him. “Waiting for my prince charming.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “This doesn’t really seem like the kind of place that a prince would frequent.”

Stiles laughed, and gave the man a nod. “True.”

He scowled again, and crouched, next to Stiles, leaning in. “This is wolf territory. There's a lot of people who would hurt a little thing like you without a second thought.”

“Well, good thing it’s you and not them.” Stiles grinned and leaned toward the man in return. “Are we in Triskelion, then? I’d wondered.”

He pulled back out of Stiles’ space and stared for a moment. “You’re very strange.”

Stiles shrugged. “So I’ve been told.”

“You should be afraid,” the man told him.

“Why?” Stiles asked.

The man blinked down at him, then sat down beside Stiles.

“Ah,” Stiles said. “When you think of it, let me know.” They lapsed into silence, sitting together comfortably as Stiles whistled along with the birds.

“What do you need a prince for, anyway?” The man said eventually.

Stiles frowned. “I’m not really sure. But it sounds nice, doesn’t it? My mother always said that someday my true love would find me, and we’d live happily ever after. So I guess I’m waiting for that.”

“What if your true love isn’t a prince?” Stiles looked over, and expected to see a teasing expression, but his companion looked perfectly serious.

“They will be.” Stiles assured him. He received a dubious look, and laughed again. “My father is a wood cutter. But my mother always called him her handsome prince. I don’t care if he’s a shepherd or a journeyman, or a scholar. He’ll be a prince to me.”

Stiles wouldn’t say that the man smiled, but his expression seemed a bit softer. They sat quietly again, watching the forest.

“It’ll be dark soon.”

Stiles sighed. “I should get back.” He got to his feet, and brushed to dirt off his pants.  
“Goodbye, Mr. Wolf.”

“I didn’t say I was a wolf,” he called after him.

Stiles grinned over his shoulder. “You didn’t have to.”

***

“Hello, Mr. Wolf.”

Derek hadn’t expected to see the boy again. It had been two weeks since he’d found him deep in the forest, but he hadn’t been back there since. Derek could smell him in other parts of the woods, but never came across him. When he’d seen the boy walking, Derek had assumed the boy would stick to the path. But when he’d seen Derek leaning against a tree he’d marched right up to him.

“Don’t call me that,” Derek said gruffly. Why wasn’t the boy afraid? If he knew Derek was a wolf then he shouldn’t be so eager to speak with him.

The boy ignored his tone and asked, “How have you been, sir?”

Derek scowled at him. “Don’t call me that, either.”

“Madam?” The boy said with a cheeky grin.

Derek growled, refusing to dignify that with an answer. The boy just shrugged, and leaned against the tree beside him. Derek waited for him to speak again, but the boy just stood, watching the trees and humming.

“Derek.”

“Hmm?” The boy blinked over at him.

“You can call me Derek.” He set off into the trees. The boy laughed and followed behind him.

***

“Why do you think all the little birds go around in pairs in the spring? They all have a someone.”

Derek rolled his eyes. In the months that they had known each other, Derek had grown accustomed to Stiles’ random, varied, and out of the blue questions. Occasionally, he still managed to surprise him. “Really, Stiles?” 

“Yes! I’m curious.” Stiles rose from his seat on a fallen log to follow a pair of starlings.

Derek stayed sitting between the roots of a large tree with his legs stretched out before him. He knew Stiles wouldn’t go too far without him. He sighed before answering the question. “Sex, Stiles.”

“What?” Stiles nearly fell as he spun around.

Derek smirked. “You know what that is, don’t you?”

Stiles crossed his arms and huffed. “I’m seventeen, Derek, I’m not a child.”

Derek snorted. Sometimes the six years between them felt like twenty. But sometimes Stiles looked too wise for so few years.

Stiles picked his way around the flowers and sat down at Derek’s side. “So they pair up to do...that?”

“Mmhm,” Derek answered, straight faced. “They find a mate so they can lay eggs. They all do.”

“All?” Stiles asked.

“The animals.” Derek grinned again, unable to resist teasing him more. “The whole forest is rife with the sounds of--”

“Stop!” Stiles said, his face turning red as he shoved Derek’s shoulder.

“What?” Derek pushed back, using half his strength where Stiles had shoved with all his might. “I thought you were curious.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and didn’t respond. When the starlings came back into the clearing, flitting around each other, he watched them with a small smirk.

***

“Scott went to the city last week,” Stiles said. He was carefully picking lavender while Derek sat nearby. It was rare now that Derek didn’t join him on his walks through the forest. Sometimes he even helped Stiles gather the things he needed. Not often, through. He preferred to sit and watch Stiles toil.

“Why?” Derek asked.

Stiles rocked back on his heels, placing the last stalk in his basket before standing. “His mother needed to make a trade.”

“Hmph.” Derek had picked up a piece of wood on their walk, and now he was using a claw to carve it into something. Despite his apparent focus on that, Stiles knew he was listening.

“The castle was having a grand ball,” Stiles continued.

“Castles tend to do that,” Derek said dismissively.

Undeterred, Stiles walked around the clearing to stretch his legs and said, “I bet it was beautiful. All the lights and clothes.”

“Hmm.”

“And the dancing,” Stiles said, spinning back to Derek. “Do you dance?”

“Sometimes,” Derek said with a shrug.

“My mother used to dance with me.” Stiles started moving in the pattern of steps not quite forgotten, but barely remembered. “She taught me all sorts of dances. Then she got sick and we had to stop.”

“Can’t your father show you?” Derek asked, watching him closely now.

Stiles sighed. “I asked him once, but he looked so sad. So I dance by myself. I think I’m forgetting though.”

Derek set the wood aside and got to his feet. “Let’s see then.”

“What?” Stiles said, stumbling to a halt.

“Let’s see what you remember.” Derek stepped into Stiles’ space, catching Stiles’ hands and placing one on his shoulder. Derek put his own hand on Stiles’ waist, and gently guided him to move in graceful turns around the clearing, while Derek hummed softly in his ear. 

Stiles wasn’t sure which made him more dizzy, the feeling of Derek’s hands on him, or the spinning. “Where did you learn to dance?”

“My family. We used to dance all the time,” Derek said. He stepped away to give Stiles a final twirl, and they bowed to each other. Stiles grinned as they straightened and Derek said, “Let me teach you something new.”

Stiles nodded, and Derek tugged him close. He drew Stiles’ arms around his neck, and put both his hands at Stiles’ waist. Instead of moving in circles, Derek stepped forward, then moved back, moving them in an unfamiliar rhythm of retreats and pursuits. 

Stiles made Derek show him every step a dozen times, because he wanted the dance to go on longer. In fact, he didn’t want it to stop. He wanted to stay here forever, pressed against Derek, memorizing the feel of his body and the swirling pattern of colours in his eyes.

“It’ll get dark soon,” Derek said eventually.

“I know.”

Derek stopped their movements, but didn't step away. “You should go home.”

Stiles tightened his arms around Derek’s neck. “I’d rather stay with you.”

Derek smiled softly. He leaned in, his breath brushing Stiles’ skin, before tenderly kissing the hollow behind his ear, the line of his jaw, then the corner of his mouth. “Go home, Stiles. I’ll see you again soon.”

***

Derek had found a very nice perch on a low hanging branch. He could hear Stiles running toward him, heart pounding and breath panting. It wasn’t the unsteady quake of fear, so Derek waited for Stiles to find him.

It didn’t take long for Stiles to break through the trees. Derek’s seat put him just slightly taller than Stiles, as Stiles braced his hands on the tree next to him. “I can’t stay long,” he said, gasping to catch his breath.

“Sit and breathe,” Derek said, offering a hand to help pull him up to sit.

Stiles straddled the tree. “I needed to see you.”

“And see me you have,” Derek said, tracing the curve of Stiles’ cheek.

“It’s my birthday tomorrow,” Stiles said grinning.

Even though he already knew, Derek asked, “How old will you be?”

“18,” Stiles said. Derek was struck by the realization that they’d only been meeting in the woods for two years. It felt like forever, and yet, like they’d only started yesterday. “Dad says it's a very big birthday. Special.”

“Hmm.” It was big, because it meant Stiles was of age.

“Will you come?” Stiles asked.

“Come where?” Derek grabbed the tree trunk for balance as Stiles shoved him.

“To celebrate my birthday,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. “Come to our cottage tomorrow.”

“Why?” Derek asked, partly to tease him, and partly because he really wanted to know.

“Because it’s special,” Stiles said, growing serious. “I want to spend my special day with you.”

Derek took a moment to compose his words. He wanted to go, but... “Your father won’t like me.”

“Of course he will,” Stiles said, easily.

“I’m a wolf, Stiles.” Derek knew very well that Stiles was an anomaly. Most people looked at werewolves with fear at best, and loathing at worst. There was no reason for a simple woodcutter to be comfortable with a wolf who'd been lingering around his young son.

“You’re my friend. That’s all he’ll care about,” Stiles said, taking Derek’s hand. “Derek, please?”

Derek sighed. He’d go to his grave before admitting it, but he’d do anything for Stiles. “I’ll be there.”

Stiles leaped of the tree with a shout, nearly falling on his face in the process. He hugged Derek around the waist before taking off back toward home. “Thanks, Derek. See you tomorrow!”

***

Stiles bounced from window to window. He’d sat down for a moment when Scott and Melissa had arrived, but he could barely contain his excitement, so he’d resumed his watch, his whole body vibrating with anticipation.

“Stiles, come sit,” his father told him. “It’s time for your surprise.”

Stiles shook his head. “No, Dad, we should wait until Derek gets here.” He was very excited for his surprise, but he was more excited about Derek finally, _finally_ , coming to visit the house.

His father didn’t speak right away, and when Stiles turned he saw him exchanging concerned looks with Melissa. Finally he said, “Derek might not be coming, kiddo.”

“No,” Stiles insisted. “He said he would, so he’ll be here.”

“Stiles, we can’t wait any longer, we're running out of time,” John said, sounding more sad than frustrated.

Stiles frowned, unease creeping into his joy. “Time for what?”

John rubbed a hand over his face. “Stiles, sit down.”

“Dad?” Stiles sat slowly at the table.

“Stiles, you remember the story your mother used to tell you about the little prince?” His father joined him at the table and put his own hand over Stiles’.

“Of course. The one who had to go away because he was in danger.” It was one of his favourite stories. His mother had repeated it over and over, always the same. Stiles could still recite it by heart.

“That’s right,” John said. “Except that it isn’t a story. It’s real, it happened here. Stiles, you’re that prince.”

“What?” Stiles’ unease deepened into apprehension as his mind went a million different directions, trying to process all the implications of one tiny sentence.

“King Christopher and Queen Victoria hid you away to protect you, but you’re their son.”

“No.” Stiles chest seized as apprehension became panic and pain. “No, I’m _your_ son.”

“Stiles,” his father--his _father_ , goddammit--started, placing a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and tightening the other over Stiles’ fingers.

“You’re my dad, and my mom-- my mom--” Stiles choked on the words refusing to even mentally acknowledge that the woman who had loved him, raised him, taught him everything he knew about how to _be_ might not be his mother.

“Stiles, I love you like you’re my own, and so did Claudia,” John said, eyes bright. “But you were never ours to keep for good. Now that you’re 18, you’re safe. You can go home and be with your real family.”

“They’re waiting for you now, Stiles,” Melissa said, with forced cheerfulness. “You have a sister, and a father and mother who can’t wait to be with you.”

Stiles’ turned to Scott. “Did you know about this?”

Scott shook his head, regret covering his face. “Not until yesterday.”

“I can’t,” Stiles insisted. “I can’t just leave, you need me here.”

“I’ll go with you, Stiles,” John said. “I’ll be part of the guard again. Melissa and Scott are going to come to the castle with us, we’ll all help you adjust. You won’t be alone.”

Stiles still shook his head. “No, no, I can’t. Derek--”

“Stiles,” John cut him off. “You’re a prince now. There’s no place in your life for him.”

Stiles stared at him in disbelief. He’d been waiting for this day for years. He’d planned his life out, and every important moment included Derek by his side. “But I-- I want there to be.”

John shook his head. “I’m sorry, Stiles.” He rose from the table. “We have to go now.”

The others moved around him, collecting the last of their things and loading them up before Melissa came and gently pulled him to his feet.

Stiles pulled away. “He doesn’t even know I’m leaving. Can’t we wait and say goodbye?” He couldn’t imagine how he would possibly tell Derek goodbye, but he couldn’t imagine not seeing him again either.

“I’m sorry, Stiles. We’re already late,” John said. “People are expecting us.”

Stiles gripped the table, tracing a finger over the groove made by some errant knife years ago. “I don’t want to go.”

“I’m sorry.”

***

Derek debated not going at all. It was easy enough to find the cottage. Stiles’ scent was like a beacon through the woods, all converging to one point, but he hesitated. Stiles might trust him, but his father had no reason to take a strange werewolf into his home. If Stiles’ father attacked him, Derek would have to defend himself. One of them would get hurt and Stiles would be upset.

In the end, he went, because he’d promised he would.

As he approached the small stone house, he stretched his senses, seeking out Stiles’ steadily fluttering heartbeat. But it wasn’t there. In fact, there was no one's heartbeat at all.

Derek knocked on the door anyway, because he couldn’t quite believe his ears. The door creaked open under his hand. They hadn’t been gone long enough for dust to gather, and their scents hadn’t gone stale yet, but it was clear that all the things that gave the cottage life and made it a home had been taken away.

He stepped further in and the scent of Stiles’ anger and sadness hit him hard in the chest, making him almost stumble forward with the weight of his grief. It brought him forward enough to discover a small scrap of paper on the table.

_I’m sorry._

Derek’s howl of sorrow echoed through the forest, and even the birds didn’t dare make a sound.

***

Stiles had dreamed of seeing the city his whole life. He’d envisioned the crowds of people, uncountable buildings as tall as trees, and the castle standing proud over it all. Whenever Scott or Melissa had returned from a journey to the city, he’d bombarded them with questions, soaking up every detail.

Finally, he was seeing the city with his own eyes, but he didn’t care at all. The excitement he should feel replaced with an icy misery that made him feel numb. The sight out his window looked dull and grey.

Scott tried to cheer him up by pointing out stalls or interesting people, but even a man dressed entirely in blue velvet could not penetrate Stiles’ gloom. 

“We’re almost to the castle,” Melissa said gently.

“I’m sorry,” said the man Stiles thought was his father, for perhaps the hundredth time.

There were trumpets when their carriage pulled up to the castle, servants in matching liveries to open the doors. Had Stiles been himself, he might have stopped to thank them, or snickered with Scott over their grandly frilly outfits. Instead, he let himself be led inside, all the colours blurring together as they led him upstairs. Castle walls with beautiful art couldn’t hold a candle to lush green leaves and a bird’s wing catching the light. 

They took him to a bedroom and told him it was his. He sat on the soft bed and thought he would trade the whole thing, blankets, mattress, frame and all, if he could be out in the forest in a bed of moss instead. 

He’d give away the rest of the furniture if he had a certain werewolf laid out beside him.

“They’re having a party downstairs,” Melissa said. “Just something small to start with.”

Stiles couldn’t think of anything to say that wasn’t vicious or melancholy, so he didn’t say anything at all.

Melissa sighed. “Just, take some time. When you’re ready you can come downstairs.”

“I’ll keep him company,” Scott offered immediately. Melissa nodded, and led John from the room. 

“Look how nice your room is,” Scott said with forced cheerfulness. “The bed looks really comfortable.” There was an awkward silence that would usually be filled with Stiles’ enthusiastic agreement. But he still couldn’t _feel_ anything but despair. Scott gave a little nod and tried a new angle. “Your family must be looking forward to meeting you. You’ve always wanted more family, right?”

Stiles closed his eyes as a new wave of heartache overtook him. He’d wanted a bigger family in his youth, siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles in droves. But as he grew, the idea of more family had changed. He wanted to start his own family and he wanted to do so with Derek.

He opened his eyes again at a soft tap on the door. Scott opened the door and his jaw dropped at the sight of the girl.

“Hello,” she said with a polite smile. “I’m Allison.”

“Princess Allison?” Scott breathed.

Allison ducked her head in an awkward half curtsey and stepped toward Stiles. “I just couldn’t wait to meet you. I’ve been looking forward to this moment my whole life.”

Stiles tried to smile at her. It wasn’t her fault he hadn’t known she existed and their meeting coincided with everything he’d known and loved being flipped upside down. All he managed was a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Allison frowned, looking a bit confused, then replaced her smile. “We’re-- um, I’m you’re sister.”

Stiles searched for the similarities between them. It seemed they both had dark hair, pale skin, and fine bones. But Stiles had thought he’d gotten that from his mother. It hurt to think he was right and wrong at the same time.

Scott broke out of his awestruck stupor and said, “It’s nice to meet you, right, Stiles?”

Stiles managed a small nod and Allison beamed. “Are you coming to your birthday party?”

Stiles’ heart clenched again, and he said quietly, “18 is a very special day.” 

“Yeah, it is,” Scott said nodding slowly. 

Allison’s smile was faltering and she looked at Scott beseechingly. Scott just shrugged so Allison pressed on. “They made you a big cake. And there's dancing.”

For a moment Stiles’ mind was back in the forest, spinning around a clearing in Derek’s arms. Then the memory slipped away. He laid down on the bed and pressed his face into the full pillow, unable to keep the hot tears at bay a moment longer.

He could hear Allison’s distressed apology behind him, and Scott’s gentle reassurances. “He just needs a minute.” The heavy door clicked closed behind them and Stiles shuddered, aware that he was completely utterly alone. 

Stiles tried to push down his grief but without the pain and anger all he felt was numb. He tried to convince himself that he should be happy, he’d been handed the life so many dreamed of. 

But all he could think of was Derek and his heart ached again.

Something broke through the fog of his misery, like a prick at the back of his consciousness. It was such a sharp, cold contrast to the heat of his sadness that he focused on it, hoping he could bring himself to the surface.

It compelled him to pull himself up from the bed, stand and walk forward. By the fireplace stood an intricately carved spinning wheel, the wood gleaming with fresh polish, the needle’s point catching the light.

He hesitated for a moment. He couldn’t remember if the wheel had been here before. He’d paid so little attention to the room because he’d been so upset, but now he couldn’t quite remember why. He tried to focus on it again for a moment, because it must have been important, but then he felt the prick again and the thought slipped away.

The path between him and the wheel felt a mile long. His feet felt heavy but his knees we’re light, and he thought they might give way any second, but the pull led him forward, refusing to let him drop to his knees.

When he finally arrived next to it, he reached his hand out over the spindle as the door opened.

“Stiles!” Scott shouted. 

Stiles turned toward his friend’s voice, but his hand went down, and he felt as the spindle sliced through his skin, then there was nothing but darkness.

***

Scott stood in the corner of Stiles’ new bedroom, hoping none of the nobles in the room would notice him and send him away. He needed to know what they planned to do about his best friend.

Queen Victoria sat beside Stiles where they’d laid him out on the bed. If Scott hadn’t seen the pain and blood when Stiles had pricked his finger, he might believe that his friend was just sleeping peacefully and would awaken at any moment. But he knew it was a lie. Stiles had never been so still in his entire life, even deep in dreams. Scott’s stomach roiled with guilt as he wished he’d never left the room, even for a moment.

“All this time, all these years we sent him away, and for nothing,” the Queen said. “We wasted the years we could have had him by our side, and now he’s gone.”

Scott thought that if Stiles were awake he’d roll his eyes and say something cutting like, _well yeah, why didn’t you think of that before?_

The King placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “We sent him away to protect him, you know that. Kate could have come after him at anytime. He was safer with Claudia and John.”

“Claudia wasn’t even with them for the last few years,” The Queen said harshly. “You really think he was better off wandering around the forest than here, learning how to govern his people?”

“Claudia taught him everything she could about being good and kind, and caring for others,” John said softly. “We thought that’s what you would have wanted.”

“It was, John, you did well, I’m sure,” the King insisted.

“It doesn’t matter now,” Victoria said. “He’s lost to us. Kate was killed by the werewolves years ago. How could her curse have persisted?”

“I don’t know, but Deaton will help. He can fix this.” The King turned to the man in question with a smile that Scott would not in a million years consider friendly. It had a sharp commanding look to it that brooked no argument.

Deaton did not seem to care. “If you recall, I already did.” Scott perked up, hoping that meant Stiles could be helped immediately. “I altered the curse just after it was cast. You only need to complete the reversal.”

“Forgive me my ignorance,” Melissa said respectfully. “But what does that entail?”

“You’ll have to find his true love,” Deaton said giving her a bland smile. “True love's kiss is very powerful. Just one should see the curse lifted.” 

Melissa nodded, but Scott knew his mother well and he could see the doubt on her face. 

Deaton turned back to the royal couple and gave a small bow, tilting barely more than his head. “Good day, your majesties.” Then he left them without another word.

“We can do that, can’t we?” Allison asked. “Find his true love?”

The King hesitated a moment, then said, “Of course.”

The Queen stood, walking over to her daughter and laying a hand on her cheek, then she looked back at her son. “Yes. We’ll call forward all the heirs of our noblemen, and the bordering kingdoms. One of them must be suitable.”

“Suitable? How do you intend to find that out?” John asked.

“As Deaton said, only one kiss should be needed. That’s why we’ll invite them here,” Victoria said. “I’ll make a list, and decide who should try first.”

John gaped at her. “Are you certain? It needs to be a kiss of true love, not convenient political ties.”

Victoria raised a brow and her eyes glistened as they bore into John. “In case you have forgotten, you have no place to decide who he marries. You are not his father.”

John visibly paled at her words, and the King stepped between them, laying a hand on his shoulder. “He may not be Stephen’s father, but he did raise him, just as we asked. I’m happy to share the role knowing John has our son’s best interests at heart. Stephen’s previous connections are just as important as the one he will make going forward.”

The idea hit Scott like a bolt of lightning. “Previous connections!” He exclaimed and ran from the room, leaving its occupants staring after him in confusion.

The winding hallways made it hard for him to get out, but after a few wrong turns Scott finally reached the stables. 

Scott grabbed a groomsman. “I need a horse.”

The man snorted. “Don’t we all.”

“No, it’s urgent,” Scott said, still panting from his run. “I need to leave right now.”

“Then you’d better start walking.” He shook Scott off and stomped further into the barn. Scott tried the next man, and the next, but neither of them would help either.

“Greenberg, saddle this man a horse,” commanded a voice behind him.

“Yes, your highness,” said a groom, bowing deeply to Princess Allison.

“Thank you,” Scott said. Allison was radiantly beautiful, and with every moment he knew her, Scott was more and more taken with the noble nature that went along with her fair face.

“Where are you going?” She asked.

Scott debated not telling her, but decided she was more likely to help than hinder him. “I think I know who Stiles’ true love is. If I can just find him and bring him here maybe it would lift the curse.”

“You really think they love each other?” Allison asked. Scott thought of the way Stiles glowed after returning from the forest, and nodded. “Go quickly then. I’ll try and hold Mother’s plans at bay as long as possible, but she’ll want to do everything she can.”

“I understand.” He accepted the saddled horse and swung up into place. “Thank you.”

“Just help our brother, alright?” Allison waved him off with a sad smile.

***

The sun had long set by the time Scott reached Stiles’ cottage. He ran inside first, but there was no sign that Derek had been there. 

Scott didn’t know the woods like Stiles did. He’d been told all his life that dangerous things lurked in the woods, so he went in for firewood, and came right back out again as soon as possible. But he wouldn’t find Derek close to home. Stiles had met him deep in the forest, in the dark bowels where no one else dared go.

Scott took a deep breath, and ran toward that part of the wood. As he went, he called out, hoping he’d find Derek before something else found Scott. He could barely see in the oppressive darkness. The only thing lighting his path was the half moon, high overhead. He was getting deeper and deeper into wolf territory, and he’d been running so long he could barely breathe. He’s energy was flagging, but every time he thought of his best friend, he found the resolve to go on a little longer.

A burst of pain went through his side as he was knocked to the ground. The werewolf above him snarled in his face, eyes flashing.

“What are you doing here, puny human?” She asked, her blonde hair sliding forward.

Scott tried to swallow with a throat that was bone dry. “I’m looking for a wolf. His name is Derek, and he knows my friend Stiles.”

“So?” Her sharp teeth glistened as she smirked. 

Scott clenched his fists. “So, Stiles is in trouble and needs his help.”

The werewolf leaned forward close into his face. “Why should we--”

“What?” 

Both Scott and the blonde on top of him turned to the new voice. Scott had never met Derek, but Stiles had described every inch of him in great detail. If this broad-chested, stubbly wolf wasn’t Derek, Scott would eat his own shoe.

“Stiles is--” he started, but he was still winded from his run and the girl was pressing into his chest, and he couldn’t push out the words.

“Erica get off him,” Derek snapped.

Erica rolled over, muttering, “Geez, if anyone needs the bite, it’s this guy.”

Derek crouched next to him, helping him sit up and leaving a hand on his shoulder. “Try to calm down. What happened to Stiles?”

Scott haltingly made his way through the story between gasps, from learning Stiles was a prince all the way to Queen Victoria’s plan to find his true love. While he spoke, two more werewolves faded out of the darkness to join Erica. By her teasing, he thought their names were Isaac and Boyd.

When Scott was finished, Isaac asked, “So what do you want Derek to do about it?”

Scott thought that was obvious. He grabbed Derek’s wrist. “You love him, don’t you? I know he loves you.”

Derek stared at him for a moment, eyes flashing blue. Then he stood abruptly, pulling Scott with him and walking away. “Let’s go.”

Scott staggered behind him and pointed in the direction he’d come. “Um, the castle is that way isn’t it?”

Boyd pointed in a third direction. “That way.”

“I can’t just show up like this,” Derek said. “I’ll be shot before I even reach the castle walls.”

Scott stopped walking. “How else would you show up?”

Derek looked back at him. “With my sister’s banner.”

Scott’s confusion only grew. “What?”

Erica cackled. “Queen Laura has been urging her brother to seek a mate for years.”

Isaac linked his arm with her’s and smirked. “I’m sure their Majesties won’t mind if Prince Derek answers their summons.”

***

Derek followed the servant down the castle hallway with his betas behind him. And Scott. Scott felt a bit like a beta to him, which was strange, because they’d only met last night. But maybe it was because he was part of Stiles’ pack. If humans had packs, that was.

Presenting himself as Prince Derek had gotten them in the door, but the fine linen of his blue coat felt too heavy on his shoulders. His crown pressed him down with the weight of responsibility and he had to focus on not fussing with it as he walked. The steward who had greeted them did not look pleased by his presence, and Derek was sure they’d only gotten this far because Scott started talking about Princess Allison and how displeased she’d be if they turned Derek away. The servant kept looking over his shoulder like he was waiting for them to bite him at any moment.

Which was exactly why Derek preferred the forest. He was a werewolf, not a savage. 

They were lead into a sitting room that was already filled with people, all dressed to the nines, and clearly well-born. He recognized a few from events Laura had forced him to attend, but they spared him little more than a glance before returning their attention to Princess Allison.

She stood at the front of the room, going on and on about how grateful she was to all of the people for coming to their aid in such a time of need. Derek had only just walked in and he could tell she was getting repetitive. 

Her parents stood nearby looking solemn. The King kept trying to interject, but Allison paid him no head, continuing her monologue of gratitude. 

Scott got her attention quickly. She looked between him and Derek and he could nearly smell her relief. “And so in conclusion, thank you for coming. Now that everyone's here, we can get started with our good friends from the north.” She wound her way swiftly through the group and latched onto Derek’s arm with an iron grip. “This way, your Highness.”

“Allison,” the Queen started, raising the list in her hand.

“Yes, mother, I know you were anxious to begin, I’ll get things started, shall I?” Allison was out the door before her mother could protest.

“Scott, you didn’t tell me you were looking for _Prince_ Derek,” Allison hissed.

“I didn’t know,” Scott exclaimed.

“Can I see Stiles now?” Derek interjected.

“Stiles,” Allison said. “Right. I’m so used to thinking of him as Stephen.” She smiled sadly and pushed open a door at the end of the hall. “How is he, John?”

John rose from his seat at Stiles’ bedside. “No change.” His shoulders were slumped in defeat and he eyed Derek warily. “This is the first one then?”

“Sir,” Derek said with a bow. “I’m sorry I was late for the party.”

“What?” John asked, narrowing his eyes.

Scott grinned at him. “This is Derek.”

John’s eyebrows shot up. “You mean, _Derek_ Derek? Stiles’ Derek?”

Scott nodded enthusiastically. Derek stepped forward. “May I?” He asked, gesturing to Stiles.

“Of course,” John said, stepping back to stand with Scott, Allison and the betas.

Derek’s breath caught at the sight of Stiles,deathly still on the bed. It looked so wrong to Derek, because Stiles was always in motion. His hand gesturing, his mouth moving as he talked and talked, even just the tap of his foot as they sat in the quiet evening light.

He sat on the bed next to Stiles and traced a hand over his cheek. He took a moment to wish that he’d allowed himself to kiss Stiles _properly_ before. He knew Stiles would be angry when he woke up and realized he’d missed his first kiss. If he woke up.

Derek shoved that thought away. Who could possibly love Stiles more than Derek?

After one more deep breath, he lean forward and pressed his lips to Stiles’. They were shockingly cold, so unlike the sun-soaked warmth that usually clung to his skin. Derek stayed in place willing the cold away.

Between one moment and the next, Stiles came alive, his mouth kissing back and flooding with warmth as his eyes came open and his hands moved to pull Derek closer.

Derek tugged him upright and hugged him to his chest as cheers erupted behind them.

“Hello, Mr. Wolf,” Stiles murmured. “I had a dream about you.”

“Was it a good dream?” Derek asked.

“This is much better.” Stiles leaned back to look at Derek and frowned. “You have a crown.”

“So do you,” Derek pointed out. 

Stiles reached up and gave a startled gasp when he felt the gold ring that circled his head. “Oh no. I was hoping that was part of the dream.”

“Why?” Derek asked.

“Because it meant I wouldn’t get to see you,” Stiles said sadly.

“You don’t have to worry about that now,” Derek said. “I’ll never let us be separated again.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” Derek said. “Your family must have missed you terribly. We’ll give them some time with you, let them know you’re alright, then I’ll bring you home.”

“Home?” Stiles echoed. “Our home in the woods.”

Derek nodded and hoped Stiles wanted that as badly as he did.

The next moment he had a lap full of smiling Stiles, so Derek was inclined to believe he did.

***Epilogue***

First impressions were important. Stiles’ father (and he _was_ his father, nothing could change that,) had always stressed that. “When meeting someone new, put your best foot forward.” Stiles usual response was to stick out his right foot and wiggle it obnoxiously, but he did take the words to heart. 

So, all in all, he didn’t think it made the best impression on his birth mother that the first time he met her, he was sitting in Derek’s lap. He’d like to blame it on the fact that he was still a bit woozy from whatever had happened with the spinning wheel, but to be honest, this was likely what she could expect of him on a good day.

“What is the meaning of his?” She demanded.

“Mother, the spell is broken,” Allison said, rushing forward to take her attention. “Price Derek is clearly Stephen’s true love.”

“Stephen?” Stiles said. “Let’s nip that in the bud right away, my name is Stiles.”

“Your regal name--” The Queen began.

“Is probably very fancy and official and shall be used in matters of state, but among my family, my name is Stiles,” he said. He widened his eyes the way he knew always melted his father’s resolve. “You are my family, aren’t you?”

He could see Scott covering his mouth to hide his snicker, while Allison beamed at him.

“Well, yes, of course,” the Queen said. “Stiles.” She said the name like it was foreign and strange in her mouth.

Stiles’ father cleared his throat and gave a pointed look to Stiles’ current position. “Oh, right,” Stiles said, and moved off Derek’s lap. Derek didn’t let him get far though. He wrapped an arm around Stiles’ waist and tucked him again his side.

“Well, it was so nice of the other lords and ladies to come so quickly, but clearly their presence won’t be needed,” Allison said. “Shall I send them away immediately, mother?”

“Allison,” the Queen said reproachfully. 

“Oh, of course, quite right, mother, they should stay for the celebration ball,” Allison said, clasping her hands together. “We’ll begin preparations as soon as possible.”

A knocked at the door interrupted the Queen’s next protest, and the King entered the room. “Victoria?” He stopped abruptly when he caught sight of Stiles. “It worked.”

“Yes, so it seems,” the Queen said tersely.

Derek pulled Stiles to his feet beside him and bowed. “Your majesties.” He produced an envelope from inside his jacket -- a finer jacket than Stiles had ever seen him wear-- and offered it to the royal couple.

King Chris was the one to take it, raising his eyebrow at the seal before breaking it with his belt dagger. “A missive from Queen Laura.” Victoria gestured for him to continue and he read aloud.

_“My esteemed neighbors,_

_It is with great confidence that I send my brother, His Royal Highness Derek Sebastian Andrew Philip Hale--_

The King stopped briefly to look up as Stiles snorted, then continued.

_\-- to assist you in reviving your first son and second heir. As he will undoubtedly be successful in this task, I wish to extend my congratulations on the return of your son, and I look forward to celebrating both his arrival and the marriage between Prince Derek and Prince Stephen._

_It brings joy to my heart to be united with you in triumph and harmony, rather than in the hate of a common enemy, and I trust that we will be able to establish a marriage treaty soon that will benefit both our kingdoms for generations to come._

_Sincerely,_

_Her Royal Majesty Laura Elizabeth Natalie Rose Hale, Queen of Triskelion_

“Well, of course we will open discussions for a potential marriage,” Queen Victoria said. “But I’m sure Stiles needs some time to adjust--”

“Nope,” Stiles said. “I’m adjusted. Adjustment over. Ready and waiting.”

“Stiles, the last time you were awake, you were extremely upset,” his father pointed out. “You haven’t had much time to think over your new circumstances.”

“I was upset because I thought I’d never see you or Derek again,” Stiles argued. “But now Derek is here, and I’ve decided I’m not letting you leave, so I feel much better.” His various parents still looked dubious. “Should either Derek or my father be removed, I will likely descend into despair and refuse to move from this bed.”

“There’s no need for that, I’m sure,” the King said hurriedly, then turned to his wife. “Our relationship with Triskelion has much improved during our reign. They were, of course, the first to offer assistance in seeking retribution against Kate.”

“They were the ones to finally find and defeat her, weren't they?” Allison added. “The Queen’s left hand sought her out and killed her.”

“Not quite,” Derek said. “Peter did find Kate, but I dealt the final blow.”

The Queen’s eyes narrowed on Derek. “You saw Kate to death’s door.”

Derek gave a curt nod. “Yes, your majesty, I brought her to justice for the crimes committed against your son, and the murder of my family and sovereign.”

Queen Victoria’s sharp eyes focused more keenly on Derek and Stiles was grateful not to be the subject of their view. She tilted her head minutely, then called, “Steward!”

A servant entered from the hall rushing to bow in front of her.

“I want a messenger sent to Triskelion, right away. Have a horse prepared while I compose a letter. He will tell her we wish to negotiate a treaty right away,” the Queen said. “Allison, come with me. We have announcements to make and tonight’s celebration to prepare for.” She swept from the room. After a gasp of delight, Allison hugged Stiles quickly and went after her.

***

Stiles’ first ball was better than he’d ever imagined it could be.

The ballroom was aglow, the long tables draped in fine fabrics. Lovely figures danced in swirls across the gleaming floor. Delicious food burdened the tables, and wine flowed freely. It was a party that any guest would be honoured to attend.

But best of all, he danced with Derek the whole night.

*********


End file.
